


Improved

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Collars, Ficlet, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Reed’s current alpha doesn’t milk him right.
Relationships: Richard Perkins/Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 9
Kudos: 185





	Improved

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Gavin glares at the coffee machine like that’ll make it brew his order faster, better, even though that’s not really what he’s mad at. He’s been mad all morning. Maybe all night. His skin’s been crawling since his heat started, and his alpha didn’t make it go away. 

He closes his eyes, sucks in a breath, squares his shoulders and buries his growl deep in his throat, because he’s at work for fuck’s sake—he can’t have a meltdown just because Richard’s being _a dick_. And not the kind of dick Gavin wants. God, he’d do anything for a good dick. If he’d just been properly _fucked_ last night, he wouldn’t have so much trouble concentrating. He knows it. He’s usually over it by now. He’s got cases to go through, and all he can think about is how badly he needs to be ploughed into oblivion. Hell, he’d even let Anderson fuck him at this point, but Anderson’s fucked off and hasn’t been around since his precious pet got replaced. Fowler’s too big on protocol and wouldn’t bang an underling, Tina wouldn’t want to fuck up their friendship, and Chris wouldn’t dare cross an FBI agent like that. That’s the one downside to being the head of the FBI’s main squeeze—nobody else is willing to touch him. 

But Gavin _needs_ to be touched. _Desperately_. His blunt fingernails are digging into his palms so hard that it’s a wonder they’re not drawing blood. The collar around his neck burns into his throat, and it suddenly feels like a chain instead of a normal brand that every tamed omega wears. He doesn’t understand why Richard would collar him without being ready to take some time off to _fuck him_ when he needs it. That’s the whole point of submitting to an alpha—to take the edge off. 

Gavin’s been on edge all day and probably will be for the rest of the week at this rate. The machine beeps, his coffee done. He opens his eyes and tries to stop shaking long enough to take his mug. His heat’s supposed to be over by now. It would be, if it’d been soothed right. Sometimes Gavin thinks he was better off single, un-collared—then he could’ve just gone to a bar downtown and let some stranger nail him in a dirty bathroom stall. 

“Is that Agent Perkins’ collar?”

Gavin nearly jumps right out of his skin. His head snaps aside, and Connor’s smug face is standing right there—except it’s _not_ Connor; he has to keep reminding himself of that. Supposedly, the RK900’s _better_. It’s faster, strong, smarter, and has a cocky smirk that makes Gavin want to choke on its dick. Assuming it has a dick. It’s got Big Dick Energy. Maybe it’s got a warm cunt instead that Gavin would still kneel down and worship, and hell, even if it’s just got a smooth doll body, maybe they could screw a dildo onto it and—

Gavin slams that train of thought right down. He hates himself for becoming that _filthy_. He loathes androids. But he’s a horny omega, and he can’t help wanting to get on his knees for any dominating presence. It doesn’t matter that androids don’t even have designations and _can’t_ be alphas. The RK900’s heated grey eyes have an alpha’s power. 

The RK900 lifts its brow, and only because it’s so intoxicatingly _commanding_ , Gavin switches to thinking _his brow_. The RK900’s too _hot_ to be just an object. Gavin’s so screwed. 

He finds himself compelled to answer, but he twists that instinct around and snaps, “So what if it is?”

The RK900 admits, “I’m surprised. You’ve been quite mouthy in your opinions of the men around you. I didn’t think you’d settle for an alpha like that.”

Gavin bristles, partly because an _android’s_ just called him _mouthy_ , and partly because he feels like an alpha’s scolding him. He knows he’s a handful, but he doesn’t need a piece of plastic judging him for it. Gavin snarls defensively back, “He’s FBI—that means more valuable than everybody here, including _you._ ”

The RK900 doesn’t look at all impressed by the rank. Gavin was at first—it’s probably the only reason he let Richard Perkins snap a collar around his neck. He regrets it now but is too proud to say it. Undeterred, the RK900 counters, “Yet he’s clearly not a particularly good alpha. He’s obviously not satisfying you properly.” 

Gavin almost reels back. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks, only partially arousal, mostly anger, offense, and it _burns_ because it’s _true._ Gavin forces that down and sneers, “What would an android know about that?”

The RK900 takes a step closer, his sleek black shoe slotting right between Gavin’s feet, and suddenly, Gavin’s painfully aware of just how _tall_ the RK900 is, how broad his shoulders are, how strong he looks. Gavin’s built well enough. He works hard to keep in decent shape. But he feels tiny compared to the android in front of him, who all but purrs, so close that the air coming from his mouth tickles Gavin’s lips, “It hurts my work if my team is distracted. That includes unruly omegas. If you want your itch scratched properly... I would consider it part of my duty to oblige.”

Gavin is instantly, painfully _turned on_. He growls anyway. He wants to tell the RK900 to back the fuck off, but he also wants the RK900 to slam him into the coffee machine and fuck him right over the counter. He wants it so badly his knees are almost shaking. He can feel himself soaking through his underwear from anticipation alone. 

The RK900 even reaches out a hand to crook under Gavin’s collar, pulling it taut. Gavin’s half hoping the RK900 will snap it right off him and crumple it up. 

But then the RK900 smoothly withdraws and strolls away, leaving Gavin melting in a pool of quivering hormones. He never even thought of letting an android soothe his heats. He always craved real, human hands across his feverish body. Richard’s hands haven’t touched him in weeks. 

Gavin’s a bad omega. He goes to the bathroom to touch himself, and when the RK900 shows up there too, Gavin drops his pants right to the floor.


End file.
